Le Chat Noir
by ShikibaOokamiDragonRider
Summary: Chronos era. Creed asks The Black Cat on a date, and...he doesn't say no. Told from Creed's point of view. Shounen-ai. Fluff? Please review and tell me if I should make another chapter! For now, this will be a oneshot. CreedxTrain. NOT OOC, TAKES PLACE BEFORE TRAIN MEETS SAYA.


It's a splendid night. A night I know I will remember forever, a night which I have longed for for over a year. I've dreamed of this night so many times, and in my heart of hearts I know that tonight will be better than even the most wonderful of those midnight fantasies. Tonight, Train is mine. Tonight, Chronos does not exist. All there will be is he and I, as strays, if you will, lost amongst the city lights.

Tonight, Train and I have a _date._

It was a quiet moment when I asked him. Something between solemn and awkward. We stood together, side by side, but I could tell he was miles away. Who knows what mysteries lie behind the Black Cat's golden eyes? As we stepped over the bodies of the men we'd just killed, there just seemed to be such a _romance_ in the air…blood the color of passion and screams still echoing off the walls…I put my arm around his waist and held up a rose for my love.

_Shall we run away together, mister noir?_

Eyes the color of flame don't meet mine, but they don't glare rejection, either. Perhaps if those flickering eyes were to see into my soul, I'd be conflagrated. He takes the rose, and I half expect it to ignite under the intensity in his gaze.

_I'd know a place you'd love. I'm going to eat there, tomorrow night, with or without you. You won't make me dine alone now, will you?_

I stand in my room in front of the mirror, and straighten my coat. I have to look perfect. Tonight will be perfect. I have to be perfect for Train—_as_ perfect as Train. I'll show him off to the world tonight, and I'll prove to him that I'm worthy of being by his side. I know I am. We were created for each other—why else would it be that we alone seem so much _more_ than all the others of this world? Some might call me crazy…but I believe we were destined for greatness.

My hair is down, slicked back in the front but brushed smooth, gently brushing my shoulder blades. I wear my best shirt, black silk with delicate periwinkle trim, my best black pants, and my best coat—ankle length, black, luxuriously warm, with fur around the collar and sleeves.

I look like a gentleman. I look like…a high class designer.

Except, of course, for the sword glittering lethally on my hip.

I meet Train at his door as he leaves. He looks…striking, handsome, dangerous. I knew he wouldn't turn me down.

We both know that it's against the highest rules to have affairs within the ranks of Chronos. If we're caught, Sephiria herself will be ordered to have our heads on silver platters. The fear only adds to the thrill.

We walk together, closer than friends but too austerely to be traditional lovers. The air is cold and the night is dark and starlit. Our breath fogs in the air and is illuminated by the streetlights as we pass them. He doesn't talk much, but I can't take my eyes off him. His hair is tamed, straightened somehow, sleek and shiny, and with his usual black overcoat he looks practically dapper. I'm sure I must be smiling. He dressed up for me.

I'm on a date with the one and only BLACK CAT!

I laugh out loud at the fantasticness of it all.

He meets my gaze and I lose my breath. I've come so far in this life I live. I used to be lost, a regular waif, and now look at me. God must have a plan for me. God must have taken it upon himself to favor that pathetic wretch I used to be…because Train himself holds all the glory of heaven and hell combined. I can't stop smiling.

If Train is mine, then my life will be complete.

"Something funny, Creed?" He asks.

It begins to snow, and I take his hand. "We're almost there. We can dine outside, if you like, my sweet." He twitches at the pet name.

"Does this restaurant have a name?" He acts so harsh, but I know he's having fun too. I give him a sly look.

"It's called _Le_ _Chat_ _Noir_. "

At that, he smirks. His grip on my hand tightens and he probably doesn't even know it. What better place to take the black cat than a place that might as well be named after him? It has all the atmosphere and none of the frivolous, superfluous accents that similar but less tasteful restaurants have. No, there are no fake candles, no boxed wines, no cotton tablecloths. That would not do, Train deserves only the finest. Here, the candles are real, hot and glowing like Train's eyes in the moonlight. The wine is red and thick like the blood that pumps fervently through our veins, and the tables are garnished with velvet.

As we walk, the glistening lights that adorn the trees we pass gleam in those feline eyes. I'd almost forgotten in all my distraction—Christmas is only a few meager days away.

Christmas. The day of my birth. I wonder if he remembers…I wonder if he'd let it show, if he did.

Our walk is quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. Train is a quiet man. I like to imagine what he thinks, what he feels, but I always come up short. He is unfathomable…and that's just another thing I love about him. He doesn't show much on that pretty face of his, but sometimes, even that itself is a clue. Silence itself, can be a clue. I've found out much about Train, not from what he says, but what he _doesn't_ say.

Just like this date.

He didn't agree…but he didn't refuse.

And that said it all.

He's lonely, I can tell. I know his basic history from the Chronos personnel files, and I know that when that man who raised him died, he lost everything. His life, everything he thought he knew, was a lie. He had nothing to strive for, no one to turn to, no one to protect him. In a twisted way, he needed that man.

I know that feeling. That wretch who spat me from her womb taught me well the feeling of having no one there to care for you. In a sick way, I should thank her, for she taught me the ways of the world.

If one hates enough, they can make it to the top. But even hate cannot protect you if you're alone.

I glance at my partner from the side of my eye, grinning widely. He has enough hate for the both of us.

But I'll make sure he'll never be alone again.

And neither will I.

We arrive at the restaurant as the moon begins to set. Though I said it, I knew he wouldn't eat outside. He leads the way into the warm glow with an air of self-assured authority, ignoring the hostess's pleas that we "please wait to be seated." Foolish girl. Train waits for no one. He makes his way to the darkest corner and takes his seat and I merely follow. Though I had commented upon it earlier, I knew he wouldn't sit outside. If I were to ask, he'd make bullshit comments about it being "too exposed," but it would all be lies.

He really is like a cat. All he wants is to be warm and cozy, and there's no warmth outside in mid-December.

In a few minutes, I'll order wine, and though offered, he'll order milk. He'll do it with a glare cold enough to freeze glass, and I'll snicker at the irony of someone saying something as innocent as the word "milk" with such malice. I'll order something with calamari, perhaps, and he'll order something cheesy.

It's not that I have everything planned, I just know.

The same way I knew he wouldn't turn down a date if I was paying.

In a few minutes, everything is as I knew it would be. We're left alone with our drinks, in our lonesome corner, with candlelight flickering on our faces. He doesn't look at me.

He takes a drink of milk, then sets his glass down. He lets his hand rest on the table. I could do the cliché thing and try to take it, or…

I pluck a rose from the lushly bouqueted vase on the table and wrap his fingers around the stem, placing my hand over his for just a brief moment, but long enough to feel vaguely sensual. Drawing back at resting my chin lightly on my palm, I watch to see what he does.

So much of my life is spent testing him, but he never fails me.

He gives me a look, dries his hand of the water from the vase, and takes the rose into his other hand as he does so. He throws the napkin on the floor with distaste, but in his other hand, the rose remains.

He keeps it, and that says all I need.

He's mastered that look so well. The look of annoyance, of aggravation, of hate. He wears it on his face so naturally, and it is natural—around everyone but me. He gives me that look…but it's so hard to believe when I can so easily see how he truly feels. He knows we're the same. He knows that he needs me just as I need him. We are partners, and not just in Chronos, but in destiny. As two souls fueled by fire and destruction, we keep each other company as we destroy every other worthless being around us.

Alone, we could be powerful. Alone, we could be as great as gods.

But even God gets lonely sometimes.

When the food comes, he devours it so ungracefully it makes me giggle. It's so cute, how much he loves to eat. I can sense that if he weren't trying so hard to act composed, he'd be raving about how delicious it is. After all, a place doesn't become a five star eatery for nothing. I love that I alone can see him lose his collected exterior like this. I alone, know him. He doesn't trust me…but he doesn't quite mind my presence.

He hates everyone…but not quite me.

The thought makes my wine taste a little less bitter.

I know he'll never trust me, but that's fine. I don't completely trust him either, because that's how one survives in this world. Just to know that despite the silence, my feelings of admiration have not been in vain…

That makes tonight worth it.

"Is your food good, _darling_?" I ask, with what I know must be a horribly shit-eating grin, raising my wine glass. The look he sends me is fierce enough to send chills down my spine, which only adds to the slight giddiness that the wine has given me.

"Not bad." He replies through the glare. His voice, though, holds no frost…and no objections.

We'll never be an average couple, it seems. While those around us chatter and laugh about insignificant daily activities, he and I…don't need to chat. Why would we? We know each other in ways most people would never even dream of. The way someone walks away after killing an entire crime family, the way someone can clean blood from their gun as idly as if it were nothing more than a dirty dish—things such as these teach me more about Train than any simple conversation could. I'm sure he feels the same.

But when we do talk—actually talk—it is so marvelous…

Perhaps I should give it a try.

"So Train," I begin, sipping delicately on my poison of choice and pondering what exactly to ask, "Are you getting me anything for Christmas?"

He looks at me quizzically as if I've lost my mind.

"Do I look like the type to celebrate some stupid religious holiday?" He replies sharply.

"Do you believe in god, Train?" I set my drink down and watch his reaction raptly. It was a rather out of the way question, I know, but those are the best kinds. Train won't be expecting it, so he'll have no choice but to surrender another small part of his quintessence to me. At first he seems almost surprised that I'd ask such a thing, then his eyes ignite with dark intensity. Immediately, he tenses, perhaps not even realizing himself that he'd actually _relaxed_ around me. From between his teeth, he growls.

"If there is a god, then his sense of humor is shit. If I ever met him, I'd kill him."

Kill god? Oh Train, you never cease to fascinate me. His eyes dare me to test him farther, to push him over the edge, but I know now is not the time. I want to talk, not have a gun shoved down my throat.

Besides, I feel the same. Once again he reaffirms how perfect we are together. Together, he and I really are a force to be reckoned with. Together, he and I _could_ kill god.

I've been done eating, and now he's finished as well. The server comes to take our plates and before Train can object I order dessert for us to split. Two spoons, and one Coeur a la Crème with caramelized strawberries. It's the perfect combination of sweet cheese and whipped cream which will entice Train, and to me, the strawberries sound heavenly smothered in wine and clove sauce.

"You'd better be paying for this." He gives me another look when he sees that the price of the dessert on the bill was almost ten dollars. I don't care about the money. All that matters is this night and these moments. I know that beneath his words is a hidden meaning—"_Why_ are you paying for all this?"

He may ask, but he knows the answer. I would do anything for Train. He is the only one in this wretched world who is worthy of such devotion. He is the only one on this despicable earth who dares to surpass me, and that's a feat.

But he succeeds.

In my heart, I know that as partners, Train is the better half. He is the muscle, the offensive raw strength, and I am the defense. In the simplest way, he gets the job done and I watch his back. In a way, I think our partnership was designed this way—I'm there to hold him back just a little when he steps out of the firm lines imposed by our superiors. I stop him from going too far, and he stops _me _from going too far, simply by being there to distract me.

Train doesn't think about these things. He doesn't think much of work in general. To him it's just a way to live, to become stronger. But he doesn't like it—in fact, he hates Chronos as a whole, just as much as I do—but the Black Cat doesn't give much thought to things he doesn't like.

Usually he _kills_ the things he doesn't like.

He pretends to not like me, but I'm still alive.

This time, this date…we're both going way too far and he knows it just as well as I do. But he never cared about the rules, and this time, neither do I.

So there he sits, across the table from me, with candle fire flickering in his eyes and the red of roses quietly reflecting upon his pale cheeks.

I take the check from him with a slight smile. "As I promised, dinner is my treat," I reply to his previous comment, then lower my voice to a murmur only he can hear. "Anything for you, Black Cat."

He tries to look annoyed, but it's a hard look to pull with whipped cream sliding down his chin.

I have to look away. That face will be the death of me.

My share of dessert tastes a little sweeter with that image still lingering in my mind. He says nothing about the fact that we're eating from the same bowl, but logically I know it's probably because he knows if he made any remark I'd buy him his own in an instant. Romanticism only goes so far, after all, and though sharing is nice it means nothing if one's partner is unhappy.

I get the impression that he doesn't mind, though.

We finish, I pay, and soon we're back out on the quiet streets. It seems as if time doesn't exist as we walk together, and I notice that we aren't even headed in a particular direction. Train seems to be enjoying the twinkling lights of the season, and surprisingly, I am too. Just walking by his side is nice, and seeing that he hasn't yet tried to escape my company is even nicer. I know where he lives, and it's definitely not the way we're walking.

He kicks up dead leaves as he walks, the wind whipping them high up into the air. The night sky is partly clear and beautiful, each star a flawless crystal reflecting the light of the crescent moon. Clouds obscure half the sky, refracting moonlight into rainbows at their edges, and though they should look menacing, they seem too spectacular too be threatening.

As we walk, the first flakes begin to fall.

We're closer to my house than his now, and without really even thinking I invite him to come home with me. No implications, just…to be there. To see where I live. To get warm before going back home. He shrugs, and so, he agrees.

I can't help but laugh. Nothing's funny, it's merely an overflow of the giddy happiness that's built inside me all evening. Half a bottle of wine coursing through my veins and my heart races with glee. I'm with Train. I'm with Train, we've just been on a _date_, and now he's coming to my house! He'll be so impressed. I don't _settle_ for anything; my house is nothing but grand. Not the biggest, but splendid nonetheless. Two stories, four bedrooms, a spiral staircase…I know he won't be interested in my library, but it's still nice to have…

I let us inside and turn on the small wrought iron chandelier that hangs in the middle of the living room, just for affect. His eyes dart around, surveying everything at once—the habit of an accomplished assassin—but his gaze fixed on the fireplace. It's only then that I notice the way his hands are curled into tight fists…and his arms quiver slightly from the cold.

I gesture to the couch and hand him a blanket with a grin. After lighting a fire, I head towards the kitchen.

"I'm making us hot chocolate to warm our hands, if you don't mind. Would you like milk in yours?"

For the first time all night, he returns my smile.

"Go heat the damn water already."

I hear him get up and walk around a bit as I wait for the water to boil, and I wish I could be out there with him. It might be best for him to have a _little_ time to miss me, but I don't want him to get bored. He gets quiet after a few minutes, and I expect that he's decided to inspect my paintings.

I bring the hot chocolate in, steaming and frothy, and am utterly besotted by what I see.

Curled up in a ball, blanket wrapped around him, on the rug in front of the fire the Black Cat is fast asleep. It's so _adorable_ I don't know what to make of it. Since when is Train so cute? He's so feline it's truly ironic. Oh Train, if only you _were_ a cat, I could spoil you dearly all the time…

Setting the drinks down gently on the coffee table, I step closer to my sleeping companion. For a minute or two I smile senselessly and try to hold in giggles as I watch him, but soon that tipsy behavior wears off and I find my heart swelling with so many unnamed emotions. I kneel down beside him and brush my fingers carefully over his sleeping form. In the warm glow, he looks so surreal…how can this truly be real?

His eyes open and reflect pure fire as he smirks.

"Got you."

Too caught up in his striking beauty, I don't even realize when he sits up. All I know is suddenly those eyes, those golden pools of burning amber are staring straight into mine, penetrating and passionate, and I cannot look away. For what seems like minutes or days, he holds me within his gaze. I am nothing but melted. I am consumed and burnt to ashes, razed by sensation. His breath on my lips. His hair as it brushes my cheek. Those eyes…

And those soft, pale lips as they press against mine. Hesitant. Captivating. Unrepentant. Too stunned to blink, I stare into those eyes as he steals my soul with that one fateful kiss.

When he pulls away I feel like a thousand fireworks are exploding beneath my skin.

"Thanks for dinner." He whispers.

For once, I can't speak.


End file.
